di essere amato

by Steven J. Serafiani

to be loved
a feast for one
a famine for two

I remember the last
she was a great woman
cared
loved
supported
but she could not supersede my fantasies
the ones where I moved without a letter, a word, a wet eye
because her name wasn’t emilia romagna
wasn’t sicily
I wanted cafes
to roam in freedom streets
loafer exchanging history
wander with my thoughts
with my pen
to drink wine and
learn tongues I once heard from a kitchen highchair
to bed women with a vowel’s end
to explore my ancestral aquarium